When I received my syllabus at the beginning of my spring semester, I’ll be frank and admit that I was not particularly thrilled about the coming months. American History II, when I had not taken American History I, and I was more inclined to European history; American Government, which would inevitably spark heated and impassioned debates that I wasn’t sure my non-confrontational heart could take; Writing and Inquiry, which sounded downright bland. Besides, I knew how to write– not phenomenally, but adequately enough. In truth, I immediately passed Writing and Inquiry off as the standard English course that would reiterate the same points I had been learning for seven years. I could not have been more mistaken.

My first day in Writing and Inquiry was somewhat of an emotional roller coaster. The textbook I was given was stockier than any other I had before, topping off at just over one thousand pages. The professor informed us that the class would often write longhand and away from computers. She also disclosed that we would be reading passages from our textbook, writing and sending letters, maintaining a blog that would contain our original writings, and playing Scrabble. From the comprehensive list, I could honestly only look forward to sending letters and playing Scrabble. Writing longhand was the very bane of my existence; my handwriting is sloppy, my spelling is atrocious, and my hand and wrist cramp quickly. I virtually never share my writing, so maintaining a blog filled with my writings that anyone, especially my classmates, could access was terrifying, to say the least. Flinging my textbook from a building high enough to deal serious damage to it was something I was already prepared to do. The oncoming semester was not looking excellent.

As the semester progressed, the class began to read passages from The Norton Field Guide to Writing. “Write or Wrong Identity” by Emily Vallowe was the first article the class was assigned to read. The first sentence of the literacy narrative reads “I’m sitting in the woods with a bunch of Catholic people I just met yesterday” (73). Immediately, the language bewildered me. Never before had I read an essay that didn’t begin with an overly academic opening, introducing the Shakespearean play the impending eight pages would be analyzing or the psychological hypothesis the article was attempting to authenticate or disprove. The further I read, the more enamored I became. Descriptors, first-person perspective, personal anecdotes, and generally engaging vocabulary and structure caught my eye. Sentences such as “Mrs. Meadow’s classroom was big and blue and different from the kindergarten class” (74) and “…I had been taught to view Chicago as this great Mecca — the world’s most amazing city to which I must someday return, and to which all other places… pale in comparison” (76) stood out. Before this point, I hadn’t seen an essay written in this manner, much less in a textbook. This all-new style of academic writing had opened my eyes.

After reading several literacy narratives, the time came for the class to write literacy narratives of our own. The day of drafting for the literacy narrative called for writing by hand, which I had not seriously done in years. After several minutes, my hand still had surprisingly not cramped. Unfortunately, my handwriting remained a chaotic mixture of cursive and print, but for once, I didn’t mind. I was able to make notes in the margins with ease. I genuinely enjoyed writing longhand, which was an outcome I hadn’t expected at all. In fact, the process allowed me to have a handwritten draft, which improved my writing substantially.

After the construction of our final draft, posting the entirety of the essay to our blogs was the final step. I thought little to nothing of the instructions; perhaps it was simply a way to make us more confident about putting our work out into the world, and that would be that. If I had known that I was going to briefly present on my posts before the class and my peers would be analyzing my writing, I would have thought considerably more of it. I was incredibly anxious about people beyond my teachers and professors reading my papers, especially when said person was one I saw on a practically daily basis. What if they thought my writing was horrendous? What if they pointed out that I had been writing incorrectly for years? What if they informed me that I should just give up writing now before my “skill” deteriorated even more? Having my writings on my blog, knowing that my peers would be viewing them, made me wish to develop my writing skills and method. For once, fear of judgment somewhat worked out in my favor, allowing me to strive to become an improved author.

Overall, Writing and Inquiry, despite being one of the classes I dreaded the most, became my favorite college course of the spring semester. Sending snail mail and playing Scrabble turned out to be just as enjoyable as I had originally expected, and the aspects I had been apprehensive of had proven to be quite delightful as well. Comprehensively, I would say that my writing, or at least, my writing tactics, have improved. In fact, though I didn’t know it was possible, I even enjoy writing more now than I had in the past.

Works Cited

Vallowe, Emily. “Write or Wrong Identity.” The Norton Field Guide to Writing with Readings, by

Richard Bullock and Maureen Daly Goggin, 4th ed., W. W. Norton & Company Inc.,

2016, pp. 73–79.